


The Assassin and the Thief

by ObsidianButterfly



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Plug, Blackmail, Blow Jobs, Dildos, Double Penetration, Double Vaginal Penetration, F/M, Het, Mentions of relationship between La Volpe and Machiavelli, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Toys, Teasing, Threesomes, Triple Penetration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 21:58:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10840266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsidianButterfly/pseuds/ObsidianButterfly
Summary: Sent on an errand by La Volpe to prove Machiavelli's betrayal of the assassins, its not long before you find yourself caught up in the man's machinations.





	The Assassin and the Thief

**Author's Note:**

> Hugs and kisses for all the lovely reads, kudos and reviews.
> 
> A fic For Siren who requested a reader fic with either La Volpe or Machiavelli. Although I decided why have just one when you can have both ;-) Plus it was really good timing as I'm currently playing the Ezio collection and loving being back in the sunny Roma world with this lot.

 

The sun was just setting as you carefully slip into position; sneaking under the open window and holding your breath, hoping that this time you won’t be spotted.

Crouching low, you try and make yourself as comfortable, and, more importantly, as inconspicuous as possible, fully aware that you might be here for some time.

You had closely followed Niccoló Machiavelli through the streets of Roma, at a hopefully discreet distance, until he retired home for the evening, snaking through the tight, winding, streets of the Centro district and avoiding Borgia guards. You were surprised to find that he chose to reside in a fairly modest townhouse, a medium-sized building standing alone on the waterfront; no terrace, no roof garden, but still in the vicinity of the main assassin hideout on Tiber Island.

Perhaps this was a convenient way to keep a close eye on what was going on without being suspiciously in the middle of it?

Guards were surprisingly minimal; unusual for a man of his influence and caution, and _that_ should have been your first clue that something was amiss.

You had just enough time to quickly peek in an open window, confirming that Machiavelli was indeed inside and working away, before a courier hurried out of a side door where you were positioned. You swayed briefly, wondering whether to follow, or remain with your original target.

La Volpe had tasked you with an important mission; to tail his former friend and colleague Machiavelli, and uncover irrefutable evidence of the man’s corruption and collusion with the Borgia’s.

Master Ezio was not convinced of any wrongdoing on Machiavelli’s part, neither were many in the assassin or thieves guild truthfully. Machiavelli’s long standing hatred and conflict against the Borgias was well known, as was the overwhelming help he provided in Firenzé and Forlí. However vital information was ending up in Templars hands, and if the culprit wasn't Ezio, and certainly not La Volpe, the automatic suspect became Machiavelli. He wouldn’t be the first man who supposedly stood on strict principles to be swayed by more money and power.

For days you had followed the assassin on his errands, watching who he spoke to, pickpocketed letters from passing couriers, and hid in shadows as he conversed with his spies. The life of a diplomat seemed rather more dangerous than you expected, and on a number of occasions he, and his guards, were forced to defend themselves against papal mercenaries.

Machiavelli was certainly physically fit, and knew how to use that sword hanging from his hip. He carried himself with confidence, almost regal posture, and his looks certainly had many a lady vying for his attention.

You hadn't _quite_ been as good in tailing him as you thought though; just two days ago losing sight of the man in a bustling festival crowd, you had hurried past jugglers and fire breathers to catch up. Rounding a corner, you finally spotted a familiar figure and could just make out the back of his navy and burgundy coat disappear around the edge of a building. Sneaking silently forwards, you peered around the crumbling structures edge to find the accompanying alleyway unexpectedly empty.

Panic flared low in your abdomen as you had hurried down this narrow path in an attempt to pick up the trail again, hoping that you hadn't been given the slip. You couldn't possibly go back to La Volpe with that kind of news, confirming your utter incompetence at such a simple mission.

As you approached the last corner, and carefully peeked around it, Machiavelli was nowhere to be seen, and the crushing disappointment in your chest was confirmed. Turning back, in order to try a different side street or perhaps clamber up onto one of the rooftops for a better viewpoint, you had been suddenly, and quite forcefully, grabbed by the throat and pinned against the wall.

Scrambling for purchase against the strong arms trapping you, there was no way to break the grip that held you so effortlessly. You soon realise that the tall dark figure pressed against you, deep gaze only inches from your face and warm breath tickling along your lips was the very man that you were supposed to be following.

Despite protests of false accusations, and pretending to be nothing but an innocent bystander, Machiavelli surprised you by knowing exactly who you were and who you were working for. He even casually informed of the very _day_ that you had started tailing him.

He had spotted you from the very beginning, obviously choosing an opportune moment to confront you.

Rather than be angry, you were stunned to find him in a rather humorous mood about the whole thing, smirking at you as he held you in a noticeably intimate fashion, warm body pressed fully against yours. The palm encompassing your neck wasn’t being particularly threatening; he wasn’t trying to choke you, or applying much pressure, but the thumb gently stroking the taught column of your throat let you know that he could do any of those things, with _ease_.

After a few moments, penetrating gaze surveying you with curious interest, Machiavelli released you on your way back to your master. Having enjoyed catching you out, and also giving you the fright of your life, he had done nothing more than set you on your feet and basically told you to toddle off home.

His reaction had been unexpected, and downright strange. He obviously had an inkling that La Volpe didn’t trust him, and could easily have injured, or even possibly killed you with no repercussions. No one, as far as you were aware, knew where you were other than the head of the thieves’ guild, and Machiavelli had cornered you in a quiet, secluded, spot.

After that particularly close encounter, rather than heading back to the den and admitting your failure, you had loitered in the area for a day or two before picking up the trail again, determined to find out just what the assassin was up to.

He wouldn’t catch you out a second time; you were so sure of it.

 

 

Your fresh pursuit had finally found you at this average, inconspicuous, villa that Machiavelli was renting while in Roma.

The distinct scratch of quill on parchment and the clattering of cutlery could be heard from above your head as you crouched behind some bushes, resting against the warm bricked wall. The tantalising smell of food gently wafted through the open window and you fought to stop your stomach making noises of protest. With barely any sleep or rest bite in your pursuit, food had been a luxury that you hadn’t the chance to partake in.

Keeping your mind on work, perhaps, you thought, once Machiavelli left the room you could quickly grab some of the papers and secret them back to your master? Or, with a bit of luck, he would receive visitors; his spies reporting in, and you could overhear some important aspect of those conversations?

No sooner had you relished the thought of such an impressive haul, than a smooth, even, voice call out, ‘are you coming in?'

Pressing your cheek to the wall, body wrought with tension, you hold your breath, listening intently and trying to make out who Machiavelli was talking to.

After a few moments you couldn’t hear any sort of response.

'Yes. You outside.'

There was a faint edge of humour in his voice this time and you baulk. _You_ were technically outside, but he didn't know that you were there, surely?

Your undignified squeal of surprise was only matched by sheer stomach-clenching panic, as that same, even, oh-so-reasonable, voice sounded remarkably close to your ear.

'I was indeed talking to _you_.' Machiavelli practically purred, and you slowly glance upwards from your hiding position to find him gazing leisurely down at you from the open window, a small smirk plastered across his face.

He raises an eyebrow, eyes sparkling in mirth, as you continued to stare at him utterly dumbfounded.

Unable to make your legs move enough just to run, Machiavelli disappears back inside the house and out of view just as quickly as he appeared, before you can even take a breath or mutter protest.

Swallowing hard, your brain seems to have taken leave of you as you remain crouched under the open window, fully aware that you have been caught, yet again, but unable to do anything about it.

An elegant hand soon appeared just where Machiavelli’s face had been, and beckoned you forwards.

Well, so much for being stealthier this time around. This is second time that this man has caught you out unexpectedly. You were either a very poor spy or the assassin was exceptionally good.

He didn't seem particularly scary, or threatening for that matter, and he could have easily hurt you after your last encounter. Perhaps La Volpe was wrong in his accusations...or perhaps you were now about to meet a gruesome fate at Machiavelli’s hands.

Either way you were cornered. Even if you tried to make a run for it and disappear into the bustling main streets of Roma, he could call the guards before you could make it out of the bush that you were currently hiding in, or he could even have a weapon on him that would strike you down before you could scale the building. You may as well accept your fate with some semblance of dignity.

Scrambling up the short expense of wall, you slip inside the window, using the shutters as leverage to haul yourself into the room. It’s large, and expensively decorated, but with a warming fire burning in the hearth and table tops strewn with all manner of manuscripts and papers.

You try and not appear _too_ interested in the various letters and etchings on show as you land softly on the rugged floor, but make note to grab what you can when, or if, you get a chance.

Machiavelli reclines in a high-backed chair at the table, facing towards the window and you, dark eyes - so brown they almost appear black - watching you intently. He motions you to sit in the chair opposite and you do so automatically, legs giving wat and sinking into it with a growing trepidation.

'Since you have had a hard day trailing the streets of Roma in pursuit of myself I thought the least I could do is feed you.'  He teases, and for the first time since you entered the room you notice that there is a plate and wine glass laid out on the table in front of the chair you were currently sitting in. It's a simple supper; bread cheeses, some cold and warm cuts of meat, and scatterings of fruits and vegetables.

You glance down at the plate then back to the man opposite. Was he joking? Did he really expect you to eat it? It could be poisoned! What easier, and mess-free, way to dispatch a spy of your rival. Perhaps that's why he let you live earlier; getting rid of a body on the street was harder work than the safe privacy of your own home.

Machiavelli grinned widely at your hesitation, obviously knowing exactly why you made no move to take anything.

'My foxy friend is passing on his suspicious nature to his underlings I see. Justified, I suppose, you can never be too careful.'

With that he reached over the table and stabbed his fork into a piece of cheese and a small tomato on your plate before popping it into his mouth.

Ok, perhaps it’s not poisoned then.

Machiavelli indicated the plate in front of you again. 'Caution is always wise, but please help yourself.'

He was being far too solicitous. You did not know what game he was playing but you needed to get to the bottom of it for La Volpe’s and the orders sake.

Picking up an already opened bottle of wine, the assassin moved to fill your glass as you politely popped a slice of the, surprisingly delicious, cold ham into your mouth.

You will play his game, and see what becomes of it.

At your questioning glance though, he rolled his eyes anticipating your objection. If the food wasn't poisoned then the wine certainly _could_ be.

Without missing a beat, Machiavelli took a long swing from the bottle himself, before filling your glass.

'So.’ He murmurs, reclining easily back in his chair again, eyes wandering your face slowly as if he’s practically reading your mind.

You don’t like his casual confidence one bit. It puts you on edge.

‘Did you find out anything of interest?' He asked with an amused glint in his eye.

He was teasing you, and you don't blame him. You had been caught out not once, but twice, and the shame of such was still wrestling around in the pit of your stomach.

'You must realise by now that I'm not quite the plotting conspirator that La Volpe is so convinced that I am.' Machiavelli said more earnestly, and he sounded almost…sad, to you.

You frown, hesitant, but if he was going to be blunt then you might as well be too. The diplomat seemed to know everything, or at least had an answer for everything, but so far didn’t seem inclined to hurt you.

'Well I suppose, since you already knew that I was following you, you could have been covering your tracks. You aren’t going to lead me to anything incriminating that I could report back.'

Machiavelli smiled brightly, like a teacher whose pupil had just given the correct answer. He pursed his lips. 'Very true.'

'How did you know that I was following you anyway?' You ask out of curiosity, tucking into a small wedge of cheese. The food really was delicious.

Machiavelli slouched down further in his seat, running his fingers through short dark hair that was just beginning to grey at the temples.

'Ah, I have been doing this a very long time.' He muttered with a small smirk. 'Do you believe you could easily tail _your_ master without being spotted?' He challenged, one eyebrow raised.

When he put it like that...La Volpe was an excellent thief, possibly the best. There is no way that he could be followed without realising that something was wrong. Perhaps you had all been underestimating Machiavelli a great deal. He wouldn't be so easily caught out.

You continue to eat in silence, wondering just how you will get out of this, and also how you were going to explain to your master that you blew the whole operation by getting caught.

Machiavelli watches you eat, elbow leaning on the table top and chin resting on the palm of his hand, a strange half-smile tugging the corners of his mouth. He seems quite enthralled, observing you with a deep, dark, penetrating gaze. He attempts small-talk; it's obvious that he's an intelligent man, with a firm grasp and sizable interest in politics. He’s polite, refined, good looking…if the whole scenario wasn't so damned awkward them you might actually have a pleasant time.

Just what has happened between the assassin and the thief for them to now distrust each other so? La Volpe was always suspicious; of everyone and everything, it was hit nature and his job, but he wouldn’t have gone after a fellow colleague without some significant reason for such suspicion.

Once finished, you push your plate away, but Machiavelli refills your wine glass, helping himself to some more as well.

‘Having dinner with the enemy, what _are_ you going to tell your master?’ He jokes as you swallow back your refilled drink far too fast.

Shaking your head, you had been mulling over those unhappy thoughts for the last hour now, hoping the alcohol would provide some inspiration. To be honest, you were thankful that you were going to be allowed to leave, but you suppose that you had uncovered no evidence against Machiavelli. Harming you now would only incriminate himself.

Rising from his seat, the assassin wanders to the window, closing the shutters that you had ashamedly clambered through, and blocking out the now dusty night sky and gentle noise of the flowing Tiber.

There was an exaggeratedly deep sigh behind you, before fingertips trailed delicately across your shoulder; just the briefest caress, but you still jump at the unexpected contact, body freezing at such casual intimacy.

Machiavelli’s thumb came into contact with the bare skin at your neck and swiped gently, sending shivers down your spine. Tugging the open collar of your shirt gently with his fingertips, the loose fabric sighs open to expose a deep bare v of cleavage.

'I dislike men's clothing on women. It's so unflattering. Practical and essential, yes, but it lacks…elegance.' He murmurs, almost to himself.

'Just as well it's not worn for you then isn’t it?' You bite back, and he chuckles deeply at your retort, removing his hands from you and allowing you to breathe a small sigh of relief, far too nervous at his actions and intentions.

'Would you like to stay?' He probes suddenly, and you can’t help but frown, confused and unsure of his demeanour turning suggestive so quickly. Was he asking...?

'Stay?' You query eyes carefully on him as he retreats back to his chair opposite to and begins rolling his now empty wine glass through his fingers.

'Let me be quite clear then.' The assassin murmurs, voice low and intimate while he licks his lips. 'When I say stay, I mean sleep with me, share my bed, stay the night.' He offers confidently with a small smile, as if no one would consider even saying no to such a request.

You find yourself opening your mouth to reply, and closing it again quickly when nothing comes out. Of all the things you expected him to say, this was way down at the bottom of the list.

Your pulse begins to quicken, heart thrumming uneasily in your chest. So _that's_ why he called you in.

'Am I getting a choice?' You hiss, fear riding in the pit of your stomach, expecting him to try and attack you at any moment, over power you. He proved earlier that you were no match for his strength.

Machiavelli raised one elegant eyebrow, smirk still tugging the corners of his mouth. ‘I’m not going to keep you here against your will if that's what you are meaning. I simply extended an invitation to an attractive lady. The door is right over there should you wish to leave.'

You are planning on doing just that. Right now. Before he could say anything else or this meeting became any odder than it already had done. 

Rising quickly from your chair, your route out the window is blocked by the closed shutters. You would have to go around the assassin stretched out languorously in his chair and you wonder if you make it? Was he telling the truth that you were not his captive?

You hesitate a second, mind turning over all the events that have lead up to this moment. None of this makes any sense, why would Machiavelli suggest such a thing? To someone he barely knew? Someone who had quite clearly proven that they were spying on him and couldn’t be trusted?

Sinking back into your chair, you watch the man before you, carefully. He was far too controlled, too at ease. He was a politician, a diplomat, a cautious man, one that wasn’t being particularly diplomatic or cautious right at this moment.

You just couldn’t help your curiosity. 'Why?'

Machiavelli shrugged noncommittally, long fingers delicately tracing the stem of his wine glass. The action was a little...distracting.

Eventually, licking his lips slowly and gaze resolutely on yours, he purred, 'these things are best kept to those inside the order. Fraternising outside inevitably leads to civilian casualties. We know each other, you are attractive and, may I add, one of the lesser annoying employs of La Volpe.'

He grinned and you fought not to roll your eyes, he was mocking you. Perhaps this whole game was one big joke he used to entertain himself with when he realised that he was being spied upon.

Frowning, you couldn’t quite believe your ears. 'I have been spying on you for days!'

'Exactly. I know precisely who you are, and what you are plotting, unlike half of Roma who would stick a knife between your shoulder blades without a moment’s hesitation. It's the safest kind of sex.' Machiavelli laughed.

Wetting your lips you stall for time, brain working overtime trying to process all the possibilities. He couldn't be _that_ lonely, that he would invite a practical stranger-one that had been stalking him-to his bed. The assassin was up to something, you just didn't quite know what it was, _yet_.

Could you continue playing his game? How far would you be willing to go to get the information you needed? La Volpe would never encourage any of his people to sleep with someone for a mission, but he never technically said it was against the rules.

Machiavelli was...a fairly attractive man. You didn’t know exactly how old he was but the slightly greying hair and fine lines around his eyes and mouth placed him at perhaps his early thirties, however the majority of his hair was still lusciously dark, and eyes equally as dark and intense. Strong features and a trim build, with well-manicured fingernails and light brown skin made him quite attractive indeed.

It wouldn't exactly be a chore to sleep with him; you could even close your eyes and pretend that it was someone else if it really came to it. Machiavelli had an interestingly calm, but authoritative demeanour. Would he be the type of man to blurt out things that he shouldn't in the throes of passion? Most of the Rosa’s ladies managed to get their information that way. Unlikely, Machiavelli seemed far too cautious and secretive, but what if it gave you a chance to snoop through some of his things while he dozed afterwards?

To be perfectly honest you were still assuming that he was joking with you, laughing at your expense. Would he continue on if you agreed? Or would he balk, realising he had taken his hoax too far?

Taking a deep shaking breath, surprised at your own daring, you tentatively agreed. He was definitely playing you, but at what? And did he know that you were trying to play him too? Machiavelli always seemed ten steps ahead, so it was highly likely that you were just getting yourself into deeper trouble, but your over confidence was pushing you onwards.

There was a brief moment of alarm as he called a guard to the room and you braced to be attacked, but the assassin only handed the boy a scrap of parchment and asked to have it delivered quickly, before grabbing a fresh bottle of wine and suggesting that the pair of you retire to more…comfortable surroundings.

Those comfortable surroundings turned out to be his bedroom. You had still half expected him to put an end to this little game, and had at least intended to survey the room, memorise the layout of his private quarters and stacks of potentially useful manuscripts for later investigation, but Machiavelli surprised you with undiluted, fevered, _passion_ the instant that he got you alone.

Dragged into his arms, his warm, skilful, mouth quickly refused to leave your own, and again your brain seemed to have taken a holiday as you allowed yourself to be led by him. His kisses were expert; tantalizingly arrogant and self-assured, and the man had good reason to be, you had never experienced anything quite like it.

Enthusiastic palms skimmed lightly across your body, promising the pleasure of further exploration as he confidently eased you backwards and pinned you to the bed, following you down onto it and covering your body with his larger one, stealing your breath away with hot, hungry, kisses as he did so.

Before you could comprehend what was happening to you, or could continue with your-lets be fair awfully underdeveloped- plan, he had slid your loose shirt open, letting it fall open around your torso while his clever mouth continued to tease and stimulate your bare breasts. Your peaking nipples were not spared his thorough attention, rolling the buds delicately into his mouth until you moaned and practically mewed under him.

Machiavelli’s hands were exquisite, long tapered fingers; precise in their actions and confident in their strokes, wriggle your trousers down to your knees and unhesitatingly dipped into your knickers to cup your groin. He wasn't content with that, watching your reactions with a dark smirk as those inquisitive fingers trailed through your pubic hair, parting your folds and sought the moist heat between your legs.

You were supposed to be in charge of this scenario, you had a mind to pleasure him while formulating some plan to trap him and gain the information that La Volpe required. Unfortunately you were left coming apart under his ministrations, softly begging for more, more touch, more of his mouth, more…anything.

Oh he was very good, and this was very _unfair_.

It felt like he edged you for _hours_. Still woefully fully-clothed, Machiavelli curled against your splayed body that was half naked and writhing under him. Your soft gasps and whimpers for him to never stop were all the noise filling the room. There was no mistaking who had the upper hand in this situation, or who was in charge.

Impossibly long fingers from one hand were buried inside your wet pussy to the knuckles, caressing every hidden inch of your fluttering muscles, while he used the fingers of his other hand to tease your clit to a stiff, trembling, peak. He refused to let you cum, just holding out on the final flick, or firm pressure, needed that would leave you moaning under him.

You _begged_ , you were not ashamed to admit it, fully enjoying the attention and wonderful caress of those hands, thrusting your hips eagerly upwards to meet his touch.

Machiavelli placated you with kisses, but still held out. He was waiting for something; you just didn't know what yet.

After what felt like hours, he finally relented with a small, evil, smirk tugging the corners of his tanned, handsome face.

The first ripples of orgasm started in your clit, spreading quickly through your abdomen and the rest of your body. An explosion of coloured stars burst behind your eyelids and you felt as if your body was collapsing in on itself with taught, tense-muscles, quivering and spasming until you melted like a puddle of jelly on top of the assassin’s exquisitely expensive bedding.

Every person in the building must have heart your screams as Machiavelli brought you to one of the most intense and amazing orgasms you had ever had, certainly that any man had every managed to give you, and right at this moment you couldn't care who heard.

No sooner had you sagged against the mattress in blissful relief, than the bedroom door burst open with force, rattling on its hinges and wood creaking as if it had just been split in two.

 La Volpe barrelled inside, ochre coloured hood pulled low hiding his face, and dagger glinting in hand.

With a squeal of surprise you grabbed a blanket off the end of the bed in attempt to cover your mainly-naked form, as a sense of shocked horror quickly befell you. How did you explain this to your master? Undressed and in an intimate setting with a man that he thought was a traitor, a man that _you_ were supposed to be proving was.

'What-' La Volpe started, a wild , murderous, expression on his face soon giving way to disbelief as he simply gave up trying to speak and closed his open mouth with an almost audible click.

The thief stood there in the doorway for several painfully-long heartbeats, observing the scene with astonishment, and his knife slowly lowered. It was clear whatever he had expected to find in the room was not your and the assassin having sex.

'I-I, um...' You stuttered, still cowering under your blanket, mind coming up woefully short in explanation of exactly what you were doing.

Machiavelli, however, didn't seem in the least bit surprised to see the other man, his serene and smug expression never faltering. He remained passively stretched out beside you on the bed, long legs entwined with one of yours and his fingers practically dripping from your arousal.

'Good. You have arrived at last.' He smiled at La Volpe, who only raised an eyebrow in return, shaking himself as if waking from a dream and dark brown gaze wandering between the pair of you.

'I thought-‘ La Volpe cleared his throat loudly, hoarse voice returning to its usual smooth tones. ‘I thought you were...' He trailed off again, tucking the completely redundant dagger back into his belt. A scrap of parchment, that looked suspiciously like a written letter from Machiavelli, was scrunched up in his other hand. 

'I heard screaming.' The thief finished weakly, eyes darting back to you curled on the bed.

Was it just your imagination, or was he appreciating the view?

'And thought I was torturing her.' Machiavelli stated with a grin, indicating you sprawled on the bed at his side. 'Quite understandable. As you can see, I am very much torturing her, just not in the way that you thought.'

La Volpe held out the piece of paper crushed between his balled fingers, voice hard 'your letter.'

Confused, you glance up at the assassin still curled around your body, wondering why he sent your master a letter claiming that you were being tortured.

'You see, my dear.' Machiavelli explained smugly, fingers trailing distractingly down your bare arm. 'I sent a courier to our foxy friend here, advising him that I had you, and that if he ever wanted to see his little sparrow again then he better come alone to settle our…disputes.’

Swallowing, you glance at your master who was starring daggers at the man on the bed.

Machiavelli’s glee was evident in his voice. ‘And here he is, all _very_ gallant, running into danger to save you.'

La Volpe gave him a dark look, shifting on his feet and still eyeing you on the bed, very much looking as if he wanted to tell the other man to stop touching you.

The assassin only chuckled lowly, sounding far too smug in all of this. 'You like this one, _Gilberto_.’ The thief’s given name rolled off Machiavelli’s tongue like silk. ‘You wouldn't have come alone for just anyone, what's one lost solider in the scene of war? You thought that I had her, and just as easy as that; the fox was lured from its hole.'

Raising one eyebrow in challenge, La Volpe remained suspiciously silent, now purposely not looking you in the eye.

What did Machiavelli mean he liked you? That couldn’t be true; La Volpe had never said anything, given any indication of interest.

'And sending her to tail me?’ Machiavelli almost scoffed. ‘An important mission like that? It could make the reputation of one of your thieves. The person to catch out Niccoló Machiavelli! Such feats could even make the next Guild master, no?'

'What do you want, Niccoló?' La Volpe muttered with a bite of impatience, cutting off his gloating.

Sighing deeply, the assassin ran a palm leisurely down your arm again. 'We do no talk as we used to, amico mio. We are growing old, and apart, and suspicious.'

‘Perhaps suspicion of you is warranted.'

‘You truly think that?' Machiavelli stated, and again you heard that tone; almost sad.

Did he mourn the loss of his friend and the suspicion that he now found himself under? They were clearly close once, and on first name basis. You would never think of calling La Volpe by his given name and you had worked under the man for years, few even knew it.

La Volpe merely shrugged in response, but his body was uncomfortably tense. Perhaps he was not as sure of the other man’s guilt as he claimed so earnestly.

'Remember the _fun_ we used to have.' Machiavelli commented wistfully, a small, genuine smile directed at the man before him. 'Evenings playing hazard...the fights with Templars…the wine...the _women_ we shared...'

Hang on. Did he just say 'shared'?

The assassin and the thief had had a wild and entertaining youth by the sounds of it. How did two such firm friends become so distant and distrusting?

La Volpe pushed his hood back letting the dim candle light illuminate his face. He was old than Machiavelli that much was evident from the deeper lines on his face, but his shoulder length hair, slicked back, was still a rich, deep brown. His eyes too were a warm, solid, chocolate brown rather than the violet of legend. So little was known about The Fox, even by his own people, and most of it was fantastical stories.

'And what do you propose we do about it?' He muttered, gaze now resolutely on Machiavelli.

The assassin shrugged gracefully, pink tongue darting out to lick his lips before he offered a secretive smile. 'I suggest we share...information.' He murmured suggestively. 'You can have all the access to my spies that you would like. I have one or two in high ranking in the Borgia guards that could always help out some of your little thieves from unpleasant situations. Of course you would bring me records of your activities and assist the order where possible. Oh, and if you could possibly liberate some of the gold required for necessary bribes to public offices then I would be _most_ grateful.'

La Volpe seemed to mull it over; taking his time to contemplate what was on offer.

Machiavelli appeared to be fairly reasonable, agreeable even, but he was far too clever for his own good. You were beginning to see why the thief had begun to mistrust him. He had orchestrated this whole scenario after all and played you and your master easily.

Turning his attention back to you, La Volpe followed Machiavelli’s gaze downwards to your body still curled on the bed and you almost shrink under the weight of their scrutiny, hoping that the mattress would swallow you up. How could you face either of them ever again after this?

'Would you like a chance to win back your little sparrow here, Gilberto?’ Machiavelli purred. ‘I have a feeling that she wouldn't mind working for me for a while? Would you, my dear?'

Biting your lip you glance nervously between the two men, unsure what answer would be best, and keep possibly you out of the most trouble. You eventually shake your head. What else could you really say?

Leaning over you, the warm sandalwood smell of Machiavelli assaulted your senses as he, gently but insistently, tugged the blanket from your grasp, exposing your partially naked body to the cooling air of the room.

Shivering, your nipples peaked instantly, straining against the loose shirt almost hanging off your shoulders. There was an unfortunately noticeable damp patch spread across the front of your knickers where Machiavelli had teased and brought you to orgasm, and you watch La Volpe take a long, slow, heated look up and down your body.

You just have time to take a shaking breath before the assassin moved in to kiss you, just a brief press of soft, full lips, his tongue flicking out to taste you.

With a smirk, Machiavelli motioned La Volpe closer to the bed with a crook of those long fingers. 'Why don't we nominate this one as our go-between, Gilberto? Our private courier? I can think of many... _benefits_.' He drawled.

Inching closer to the bed, and fixing you with a look much like his namesake that has just spotted a very tasty chicken all alone in the coop, La Volpe unfastened his dusty copper coloured cape one handed, letting the garment flutter to the floor. He alighted the bed with speed and grace, crawling up your prone body to pin you underneath the weight of him and smirking at the small gasp of surprise trembling from your lips.

Machiavelli discreetly rolled off the edge of the bed with a chuckle, stalking to the table to refill his wine glass and taking a long drink, but he continued to gaze on intimately at the pair of you.

La Volpe kissed you, mouth covering yours slowly, tenderly. It was unexpected, but not unwarranted, and you find yourself automatically sighing into his touch, melting against the warm, hard, planes of his body as he settles himself comfortably between your legs.

He tasted like brandy; smooth, sharp, with hint of bitter orange, and you dart your tongue out, connecting just briefly with his. That’s all the invitation he needed to press more firmly against you, licking into your mouth, quickly claiming every inch of you and stealing your breath away.

You writhe under him, the velvety feel of his tights against your bare legs, the intricate embroidery of his doublet scratching your sensitive skin. His touch was just as narcotic as Machiavelli’s, just as skilful, and you found yourself wanting more.

Too soon, the thief pulled back from your mouth, earning a small groan of disappointment from you and a deep laugh from the assassin at the other side of the bed. However La Volpe did not go far, burying his head against the crook of your neck and attacking the sensitive skin there, focusing on that little sweet spot behind your earlobe until you let out a sharp gasp of gratification. Your pulse fluttered under his touch, body writhing from all the wonderfully marvellous sensations you were experiencing.

'Did he hurt you?' La Volpe quietly whispered against your skin, lips tracing your earlobe, using your moans of pleasure as cover.

You shake your head, craning your neck and arching against the bed to allow him better access.

'Did he force you?' He murmered, and you heard the uneasy swallow low in his throat and felt the uncomfortable tension in his body. If Machiavelli _had_ hurt you, there was no disputing from La Volpe’s tone and body language that the assassin would die.

It would be so easy, and infinitely less embarrassing for you, if you said yes, but that would be a lie, so you shook your head quickly again.

Curling fingers around your chin, the thief dragged your face to meet his, gaze unwavering. His thumb brushed your bottom lip, breath ticking your skin as he weighed your answers, checking that you were not scared, or lying to him.

With a small reassuring nod, and mouth resuming its wonderful task of drawing every stuttering breath from your body, La Volpe’s palm skimmed up your waist, wriggling under your loose shirt tails. He trailed delicate fingertips up your ribs, caressing back and forth just under your breast and you arched into his touch, desperately eager for more.

'You will be our go-between, our negotiator. All our dealings will go through _you_.’ He purred, trailing his tongue up your taught throat. ‘Are you happy with that?

Nodding enthusiastically you gasp as his hand inches further up to engulf your breast in his warm palm, squeezing gently, before teasing your nipple with his thumb.  La Volpe’s other hand pinned one of yours to the bed that had begun to explore him.

'Are you happy for us to share your bed? Not one but two of us. Both fucking you as we please?'

His voice dipped low, filthy words inflaming tendrils of desire low in your abdomen. Panting, you nod vigorously, desperate to keep his mouth, and hands, on you.

Machiavelli’s touch had been something else, you had never expected such pleasure as you had when at his mercy, and you were more than eager to see if your former master could provide the same. Something was telling you that La Volpe would be _just_ as perfectly satisfying as the other man.

‘I'm going to need you to say it.' The thief hummed against your mouth, nipping your bottom lip with his teeth and hands still on your body driving your to distraction.

'Yes.' You hiss between gritted teeth, body pulsing and bucking against his. You never thought something like this would happen, ever. Occasional fantasies about your attractive and powerful mentor were to be expected. Lots of the women had them, judging from whispered stories for entertainment on late night missions, but this, this was something else.

La Volpe's build was learner than Machiavelli’s, there was a wiry sparseness to him despite his age; the frame of a long distance athlete like a runner or swimmer, but he covered you just as easily.

Satisfied that you had not exactly been coerced and were more than happy to be in your current predicament, he set to work exploring your supple body further with mouth and teeth and inquisitive hands.

Sliding the shirt off your shoulders, La Volpe playfully tossed the fabric at the assassin, who caught it with a grin, still sipping his wine and casually leaning against a dresser.

Longer fingers hooked into your underwear, tugging the scrap of fabric deftly downwards. You blushed at the wet sucking sound as the sodden fabric was peeled away from your body; practically suck to you with your arousal.

He inhaled deeply; face perilously close to your sex, chestnut gaze fixed on yours, and you practically squirmed at the intimacy of it.

A few goading kisses were placed against your thighs, causing your back to arch, desperately leaning into the thief’s touch as his fingers curled around your hips, effortlessly pinning your lower body at his mercy. La Volpe dipped his tongue towards you, trailing though your brazenly damp folds thanks to Machiavelli’s earlier ministrations.

You moaned eagerly for him, clit throbbing against the warm, wet, pad of his tongue, legs parting just a little wider in encouragement to continue. You could feel the thief grin against your body at your begging actions, rolling his eyes upwards to watch you wiggle above him with a voracious look.

Viewing him through your parted legs was almost _too_ intimate. Your heart fluttered with each provocative flick of his tongue against your sex, each caress of his fingers. Cupping your breasts, you teased your own peaking nipples and La Volpe’s gaze darkened hungrily watching your actions.

The assassin and the thief weren’t the only ones that could tease.

You rolled your hips against his mouth and tried his given name, rolling it off your tongue like a prayer, ‘Gilberto!’

He liked it; hearing you moan his name. Your reward was a deep growl from between your legs, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he penetrated you with his tongue.

With a slight rustle of fabric, your attention is drawn from the delicious sight of the man below you to Machiavelli now approaching the bed. Looming over your prone form, he had removed his own doublet and ruffled collar, leaving him in nothing but a loose fitting white undershirt and distractingly tight breeches.

Placing fingers under your chin he tilted your head upwards to meet his kiss, just as hot, just as fiercely possessive, as La Volpe's had been.

Machiavelli eased onto the bed at your side, mouth still insistent on claiming yours, bringing the amazing warmth and musky smell of his body. He tasted of wine, smooth, rich and fruity. You watch him run a playful hand through La Volpe's hair, who was still busily edging you towards another orgasm.

‘You should _taste_ these lips, amico mio.' Machiavelli purred, and La Volpe fixed you with a teasingly sexy smirk. Swiping his tongue deliberately through your swollen folds, eyes on you, he purred, 'oh I am' and his deep chuckle reverberated through your sensitive flesh.

This was far too much you think, as you wriggle and squirm under their assault; two hot and hungry mouths, two sets of warm hands, two hard-yet soft- male body’s intent of stimulating yours, until your mind was a haze of lust and want and feeling.  You couldn't believe this happening; it was both incredibly erotic and slightly terrifying. 

'She'll need preparation if she's going to have both of us, Niccoló.' La Volpe murmured, lips pink tinged and wet from your body. He looked positively sinful between your legs.

Machiavelli grinned, dark eyes wandering your face as he hesitatingly pulled back from your kiss. 'Unless she’s already skilled at that?' He drawled, raising a questioning eyebrow at you.

Just the thought, the _prospect_ , of both of them taking you at once was enough to have heat rising to your cheeks as your dip your gaze away shyly, biting your lip and shaking your head at the rather brazen suggestion. You had never experienced anything like that and it looks as if you were going to get the chance.

'Already putting your mouth to good work I see, Gilberto.' The assassin teased.

La Volpe merely smirked in retort. 'A job better suited to you, I believe. You were always the one with the smart mouth, _Niccoló_.’

You are amazed at their playful bantering. It's clear that they have been in such intimate situations before, and so easily to fall back into comfortable camaraderie. You were glad that the pair seemed to be putting some of their misplaced distrust behind them.

It wasn't long before you were writhing in La Volpe’s expert grasp, and moaning incoherently into Machiavelli’s kisses, as the thief’s fingers joined his mouth in working over your clit until ultimate satisfaction coasted over your body in rippling waves.

One hand tangled in La Volpe’s hair, and the other fisting the loose shirt of Machiavelli, as if your hold on them was the only thing anchoring you to the bed, otherwise you might float up off it to the ceiling. Every nerve ending tingled in stimulation after that rather amazing orgasm, you find yourself breathing heavily, chest rising and falling rapidly, as you fought to regain some control of your body and vocal chords.

With a mischievous, infuriatingly self-satisfied, smirk, The Fox crawled up from between your legs, demanding your attention from the assassin so that he could curl his tongue into your mouth and share the musky taste of your body.

With greedy fingers, Machiavelli pinched La Volpe’s chin, dragging his mouth away from yours to press an intense, insistent, kiss against the other man's mouth.

For a brief moment, the thief stiffened in the other man’s embrace, but soon relaxed into the kiss, sharing the taste of you with each other.

It was incredibly erotic, watching the two men together. You wonder how far they have gone with each other in these kinds of settings. Had they once spent the night together without a third person between them? Would you be treated, at some point, to the deliciously erotic sight of their naked bodies pressed together, fucking one another?

Sliding off the bed, La Volpe deftly unbuckled his belt and pulled his doublet over his head leaving his upper body lithe and nude. The front of his leggings was taught, the tight fabric showing off his wonderfully hard length of his cock, already straining to attention. You always wondered at this choice of clothing. For someone that could so seamlessly disappear into a crowd his clothing was surprisingly brightly coloured and flamboyant.

The Fox finally crawled back onto the bed with all the grace of his namesake, covering your still-splayed body, trailing hot kissed as he went and swatting your palms away so that he could have the pleasure of teasing your breasts himself. Rolling into his back, La Volpe easily pulled you across his body so that you were left straddling him.

Reclining against the pillows, he grabbed your hips, grinding your centre down onto his straining erection and stimulating feelings you thought he had sated with his talented mouth. The tight front of his leggings was soon an almost dark-red colour from the wetness dripping from your pussy.

You needed to kiss him again, taste him, let those curved lips caress yours and smooth tongue rouse you.

La Volpe made an attractive sight beneath you, hair fanned against the pillow and small smirk playing across his striking features, as he watched your body roll and undulate against his with unrestrained lust in his eyes.

Leaning forwards slightly, you trail kisses along his smooth jaw and cheek, breathing in the fresh, clean, scent of him, before finally tugging his fuller bottom lip between your teeth.

With a flash of teeth, he growled lowly at your actions, more wolf than fox, and your pulse quickened. His grip on you tightened, grinding you down onto him and creating a fluttering pulse, insistent for attention, between your legs.

You had almost forgotten about the other man in the room, a shameful oversight on your part considering all the gratification you had been treated to so far, but Machiavelli soon made his presence know, slipping onto the behind you, pressing himself against your back and running his mouth down your neck and across your bare shoulder.

The assassin deftly sneaked a strong arm around your waist, pulling you taught against the warm breadth of his chest, his hips grinding against your backside and free hand wandering to cup and caress your breasts.

Moaning, you writhed between them, unable to stand the overwhelming sensation of being sandwiched between these two delicious specimens, pulse thudding, your blood feeling like liquid fire in your veins. You were _soaking_ wet, clit pressed against the straining erection of La Volpe under you, and every buck of his hips teased the peak until your thought you would have to beg them to stop.

‘ _Please_.’ You sob, words barely legible though the low gasps forced from your throat with every buck of their hips.

You needed something…more, more than they were already giving you. Your body craved the touch of theirs, inner muscles fluttering, _begging_ for penetration. You needed them inside of you, soon.

‘ _Please_. Fuck me. I need both of you inside of me.’

Their response to your desperate pleading was deep masculine groans, and to press more firmly against you; Machiavelli digging his cock, still trapped in rough breeches, into the soft flesh of your backside, teeth sinking delicately into your neck to draw startled moans from your lips, and La Volpe bucking his hips upwards, almost knocking you off his lap with the sheer strength and force of his body.

There was the frenzied rustle of fabric behind you and you were soon panting desperately as you felt the scorching spear of Machiavelli’s newly released cock, impossibly large and heavy against your bare skin.

‘ _Yessss_.’ You practically hiss in pleasure, happy to be getting what you needed. Automatically you arch your back, pressing your rump securely against him in invitation.

La Volpe reluctantly drags himself away from your lips, hazy gaze suddenly focusing sharply as he utters a warning.

‘ _No_ Niccoló, she doesn’t know what she’s asking for, we have done no preparation! She has never done it that way before.’

The assassin sighed against your skin, lips trailing enticingly along your neck and down between your shoulder blades as his hips carried on their gently undulating rhythm against you.

Both of them pressed against you so intimately, inner muscles quivering for some sort of stimulation, you were half inclined to beg some more, let them do as they wished with you and damn the consequences, but deep down you knew that you would be glad tomorrow that someone was thinking more clearly than your lust addled brain was capable of at the moment.

'Such a hard taskmaster isn't he?' Machiavelli teased, drawing your face to meet his and placing a gentle fleeting kiss against your lips.

You almost whimpered in disappointment as the assassin pulled away, leaving you shivering and still perched on top of La Volpe.

Reaching under the bed, Machiavelli produced a long wooden box from under it. Dark wood, plain and unassuming, you crane your neck over your shoulder to get a better look inside the box as he carefully opened the lid.

Under you, La Volpe was busy trying to distract, hips grinding upwards against yours, palms massaging and squeezing your thighs rhythmically. He sat up on the bed, enveloping you in his embrace, burying his face between your breasts to nuzzle the heavier flesh and tug on a peaking nipple with his teeth.

Inside the box, against a plain red silk lining, sat three objects. It took a moment for your mind to understand what you were looking at as the three long white tubes didn’t make any sense.

Plucking the smallest one from its casing, Machiavelli caressed it in long fingers, handing it to you to examine.

They were phallus shaped, highly polished and of some white material that was suspiciously like ivory. The smallest that you were holding was no larger than two forefingers and from what you could see they increased in size until the largest was a fairly impressive replica of a human cock.

As your fingers slip shakily over the item, you eventually notice intricate details carved into it in relief. On closer inspection you almost blush, despite the predicament you now found yourself in, the scenes depicted were _scandalous_ ; highly sexual and erotic. Men and women in poses with each other, the same sex, the opposite sex, strange beast-creatures with massive cocks being pleasured by young men and women. There were Minotaur’s, devils, cupids, satyrs, and all manner of human shapes, unclothed and performing explicitly sexual acts on one another.

You watch the assassin and the thief with wide eyes, excited and nervous all at the same time, imagination running wild with what is going to happen to you next.

Machiavelli’s mouth trailed your neck, sending shivers down your spine. Plucking the object back from your grasp, he caressed you with it, sliding the wide head between your breasts, along your arm, down across your stomach.

You can only watch, enraptured, as he coated it in a smooth, slick oil that smelled faintly of jasmine.  Licking your lips, and squirming on top of La Volpe, precise fingers caressed the phallus, smoothing the lubricant over it until every inch was wet and glistening.

An almost predatory smile graced Machiavelli’s lips as he eased back onto the bed, kneeling behind you. Placing a firm palm between your shoulder blades, he bent your forwards until you were on all fours, gazing down at La Volpe underneath you.

The thief gave you reassuring smile and passionate kiss, before hooking long fingers into the waist band of his tights and shirking them down to mid-thigh.

You were left almost face to groin, the impressive hard length of his cock quivering in front of you; flushed dark pink and _straining_ to attention. You had the sudden, _overwhelming_ , urge to lick him, to suck all that velvety erection into your mouth and taste the little droplets of clear liquid gathering at his peak.

Just as you contemplated darting out your tongue, Machiavelli began teasing you with his acquired toy, trailing the cool, carved, object between the cleft of your cheeks, riming the tip of it around the tight puckered skin of your arse and coating your body with the lubricant.

Moaning, you try and relax into the foreign sensation, letting your upper body sink down onto your elbows and offering your backside up as a willing sacrifice to the assassin.

Biting back expletives as Machiavelli begins to penetrate you with the carved phallus, you try and focus instead on the fox underneath you and begin to trail the length of his cock with your tongue, lavishing attention on him and enjoying the small gasps and groans of pleasure inadvertently escaping his lips.

Head thrown back against the pillows, La Volpe bucks against you, eye fluttering closed as you suck and squeeze and lick him until he pulses in your hand, cock straining in eagerness and the salty tang of pre-cum coating your tongue.

Too soon though, you can’t even focus on that simple task as Machiavelli pushed forwards, teasing and stretching you with the toy, steadily fucking you with it once he was satisfied that he’d done enough to ready you to the sensation.

La Volpe bundles you in the warm safety of his arms, pulling your body hard against his chest and offering distracting kisses, nimble thief’s fingers snaking down between your legs to stroke your clit in time with Machiavelli’s plundering of your arse.

Your world narrows down to nothing but the press of their bodies, the hazy lust-filled desire of sex and pleasure. Sweating and shaking, and panting in overstimulation, you are enveloped in their warm, manly aura, moaning for more and begging for release.

With confidence, Machiavelli inches the second of his toys into you, and your body- that had become so accustom to the first smaller one- is forced to stretch wider, leaving you gasping and wiggling your hips at the feeling. Your inner muscles clamp down on the invading object, testing the hard, unforgiving feel of it, inadvertently greedily sucking it deeper.

There’s a pressure deep in your abdomen, a warm, heavy weight settling low in your belly, and you are not sure if it’s the gentle thrust of Machiavelli’s actions or the simple desire for release from your own body.

‘One more.’ Purred the assassin behind you, leaving you feeling strangely empty as he eventually withdrew the second toy from within you.

Bowing your head, wriggling against their grip, you moan lowly, wondering if you could stand any more of this breath-taking fondling.

Inched backwards, you find yourself positioned straddling La Volpe’s thighs, the thick length of his cock pressing urgently against your belly.

‘Now, would be an excellent time, Gilberto.’ Machiavelli hummed, easing you down onto the other man.

Between the pair of them, they slipped you into the perfect position over his groin, easing the wide head of the thief’s cock to the entrance to your pussy, leaving you straining to sink down further onto him. But two sets of strong hands on your hips and waist kept you firmly in place, not quite giving in just yet.

‘We should have both just fucked her here, Niccoló.’ La Volpe drawled, eyes sparkling in mischief as he rubbed himself back and forth along your opening, watching your arousal dribble down onto his member. ‘She’s certainly wet enough for that.’

You whimper, wriggling once more in their grasp.

Warm breath tickles the shell of your ear as Machiavelli’s lips trace your earlobe, biting gently down onto it. ‘What would you like?’ He whispered, pressing the last of his toys, and the biggest, against your arse. ‘We are both quite skilled at fucking any hole you wish.’

‘I-I don’t know.’ You manage to choke out, barely able to string two words together and desperate to be allowed to cum just once more, body strung out like a thread pulled too taught and threatening to snap at any moment.

‘I’ve…I’ve never had either.’

Rolling your head back to allow the assassin access to your neck, you squirm in his embrace and moan at his words, bucking your hips against La Volpe’s waiting cock and relishing the sensation as the tip _just_ slips inside of you.

The thief closed his eyes, teeth worrying his bottom lip, holding back until the time was just right.

Machiavelli wasn’t finished tormenting you, voice rough and hoarse in your ear. ‘We could bury ourselves into that wet cunt of yours, give you such pleasure no one man could ever manage. _Or_... I could show you the desires of being fucked in the arse, just as our friend here showed me.’

His words inflamed you, you didn’t know what was causing you the most pleasure; imagining the pair of them fucking you as roughly as they described, or the thought of La Volpe pinning Machiavelli down and taking him. It left you mewing in want and unsure just what to beg for.

Your screams were deafening in your own ears as The Fox chose that moment to plunge himself into your willing body with a groan, you pussy clenching around him like a fist. At the same time, Machiavelli sunk the final lubricated phallus into your arse, but _god_ , it felt big.

Assaulted from both sides, you were quite happily trapped, a buzzing coil of pent up frustration and desire.

La Volpe was warm and soft and _alive_ , the feeling of him buried up to the hilt inside of you was contrasted by the much harder, unyielding solidness of the toy in your arse. Perched on top of the thief’s lap you groan, eyes fluttering close as you experimentally roll your hips, finding yourself shuddering at the feeling of both brushing so deeply inside of you.

His large hands on your waist, La Volpe guided you on top of him, rolling your hips in his grasp, gently thrusting up to meet you with every stroke.

When you finally managed to open your eyes, you found him gazing up at you, chestnut eyes almost flashing amber in the dim candlelight as he watched you, enraptured.

Pushing you forwards, until your face was only inches from the thief under you, Machiavelli placed a trail of kisses up your spine and along the back of your neck. He playfully wiggled the toy currently embedded in your backside and your low keening moans were uncontainable.

‘I have an idea.’ He purred, shifting into position and kneeling behind you. ‘You can have the best of _both_.’

You pulled away from La Volpe's eager kisses to glance over your shoulder, _that_ sounded ominous. Watching the assassin slick some of his fragrant lubricant over his cock, you take a deep breath, licking your lips, and preparing for him to drag the toy from your clenching backside and plunge his cock into you instead.

Your heart thudded in your chest, body awash with need and craving and arousal. In a few moments you were going to feel what it was like to have two of the most powerful assassins in Roma inside of you, fucking you…and judging from their plans this could be happening to you a lot from now on.

The feeling of Machiavelli slipping into your backside never came, but just as you were about to question, he pressed against your cunt, just where La Volpe was already buried, and used the strength of his hips to ease himself inside of you in one long stroke.

Fisting the bedspread, you cursed and muttered the name of every deity you knew, forehead pressed against La Volpe’s shoulder as both of them breached you.

A hand playfully patted your backside. ‘You alright down there?’ The assassin teased, and you could barely mumble yes, completely _overwhelmed_ by the sensations.

‘Fuck.’ You couldn’t stop the swear escaping your lips as both men began to move slowly, bucking their hips only a fraction, allowing you to grow accustom to having them both stretching your pussy.

Machiavelli’s toy was still firmly lodged in your backside, and he gripped the base and gave it an experimental wiggle, causing fresh cursing and shivers to wrack your body. You would never survive this; it was too much sensation, too much pleasure for simply one person to have.

Pressed firmly against the line of your back, the assassin entertained himself running his lips across your shoulders and up your neck, sneaking a hand around your hip to wedge it between your body and La Volpe’s so that he could tease your clit in time with their thrusts.

For his part, The Fox whispered endearments and encouragement, offering soothing kisses, hands wrapped around your waist and anchoring your in place from your struggles.

You feel wonderfully, _gloriously_ full. They seem to hit every sensitive spot in your body and it’s not long before excited gasps and moans, and the soft slap of bodies together, is all the fills the room. You can feel every movement within you, both cocks rubbing together and caressing your inner walls. Separated only by a thin wall of muscle, each movement bumps against the impressive phallus in your backside, spiralling you towards another thigh quivering orgasm.

Sweat trickles down your spine and gathers at your hairline from your exertions, even La Volpe’s cheeks seem red and flustered, long hair drooping forwards into his eyes, and Machiavelli has miraculously stopped his teasing and witty remarks, both too eager to bring this pleasure to its climax.

Your final orgasm was _almost_ painful, rippling out from between your legs and along all your limbs as your body tightens and pulses around the two men and firm toy inside of you. You quite literally saw stars, flashes of colour exploding behind your squeezed-shut eyelids as your lungs seize up mid scream.

For a brief moment, you seem to have lost all control of your muscles, arms and legs locked into position as you rest your forehead against La Volpe’s shoulder underneath you and let them finish; too tired, too exhausted, too _incredibly_ sated to do anything but lie there and let the pair of them do the rest of the work.

Fingers threading through your hair, Machiavelli pulls you upright and hard back against him, arching your back and cradling you against his chest. He drags your mouth to him so that he can offer a deep, probing, kiss, tongue sneaking into your mouth to tangle with yours as he grunts his release, hips stuttering for one final, deep, thrust.

Pulling out, you can already feel the trickle of his cum escaping your body, unfortunately pooling on the man underneath you, but Machiavelli holds you in position while La Volpe too offers a few last thrusts between your legs.

He too cums with a low growl, hot seed coating your insides, his fingertips digging into the soft skin at your thighs.

Releasing their hold on you, you’re finally, blissfully, allowed to collapse onto the top of the bed, exhausted, panting and sweating, body tinging in sensation and still costing down from your incredibly high.

You barely have the strength to open your eyes, curling onto your side on the soft bedding and feeling the awkward press of Machiavelli’s toy deep in your backside. The sensation of the smooth ivory caressing your bruised inner muscles is enough to leave you writhing onto of the bed.

Your groans of discomfort has both assassin and thief beside you instantly, enquiring what is wrong and thinking that they have taken things too far and have hurt you.

‘Can you take this...thing out of me, _please_?’ You almost whimper, far too over stimulated.

Machiavelli chuckles lowly when he realises the toy is still snuggly inside of you. ‘My apologies, amore mio, I was enjoying the blissful afterglow too much.’ He murmurs, gentle fingers slowly easing the phallus from your body.

Gods, it felt bigger coming out than it had going in, and your body grips it tight, not wanting to relinquish its hold on it.

The assassin lets it drop to the floor, gently easing you onto your back so that he can cradle your face between his hands and offer a tender, passionate kiss.

Not to be outdone, La Volpe curls up at your other side, snatching his own fevered kiss when he gets the chance. ‘Did you enjoy yourself, amore mio?’ He whispers against you, a warm smile gracing his lips.

You can only nod, body still tingling from everything they had done to you. You stretch out against the pillows, relishing the small aches and pains and tiredness of really good sex.

‘Should you wish to retire to your own den for the evening, I will not object. But- but it would please me for you both to stay here.’ Machiavelli offered with an uncertain voice, as if he expected either you or La Volpe to refuse to keep him company.

You couldn’t think of anything more pleasurable than snuggling down into bed with the pair of them, and instigating more wonderful, sleepy morning sex after a good night’s sleep. You glance questioningly at your master, following his lead.

La Volpe’s usually solemn mask slipped into a warm smile. ‘Grazie, amico mio. We will stay. On one condition.’

Machiavelli frowned, watching him carefully, still unsure whether he was under suspicion.

‘You do not hog the covers as you used you.’ The thief chuckled teasingly, slipping under the duvet and drawing you with him.

It earned a mock pout from the assassin, who rose from the bed to blow out the candles before sliding under the sheets, happily finding himself pushed to the middle between you and La Volpe and wrapped in your arms, a silent apology for doubting his loyalty.

 


End file.
